


(self-declared) father knows best

by rigelsenshis



Series: we've got soul and we've got gold [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (meaning that he's not a skater), M/M, Swearing, also everyone is an adult, and dj!otabek, still pretty comedic and angst free, there are very clear suggestions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rigelsenshis/pseuds/rigelsenshis
Summary: "VITYA"From the kitchen stool he’s gracefully sitting on, Viktor Nikiforov-Katsuki curses every god in existence for not stopping him when he decided to give the Ice Tiger of Russia a key to the apartment





	(self-declared) father knows best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venenix/gifts).



> i honestly thought [up all night to get lucky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9847850) was going to remain a one-shot. then inspiration hit. so here we are, and the whole premise is pretty stupid but the banter makes up for it, i hope.
> 
> for **Maki** , always, because she's my space paladin and out Telegram conversations should be put in a museum. also, thanks to _Tangled_ for the title (kind of), _Lin-Manuel Miranda_ for _In The Heights_ (although the little _Sunrise_ quote i used sounds better in Spanish i have to say) and our overlord Google for educating me about Saint Petersburg nightlife. enjoy!

"VITYA."

From the kitchen stool he’s gracefully sitting on, Viktor Nikiforov-Katsuki does two things simultaneously (because he’s a five-times World Champion and he’s just _that_ good): he puts down the copy of Vogue he was reading and curses every god in existence for not stopping him when he decided to give the Ice Tiger of Russia a key to the apartment. _So you can always come when you need us, Yurio, just like a family!_ He should have listened to Yuuri, who is smirking from above his tea mug and whose eyebrows are very clearly saying _I told you so_ in Japanese, Russian and English too for good measure.

"Look at this!"

"Oh, good evening to you too, Yurio. Please come in, have a seat, make yourself comfortable?"

"Spare me your sarcasm because I don’t have time for it, I need to be at the rink in like twenty minutes or Lilia is going to skin me alive—"

"That’s graphic."

"You don’t _fucking_ say, _katsudon_."

"Please do _not_ start killing each other. What should I look at, Yurio?"

"Right. _This_!"

"Is this your chat with Otabek? Yurio, I’m not ready to read your sexting, I warn you."

"Can you _please_ focus?"

"Fine, fine."

"Do you see how terrible it is?"

"Yurio, it was an innocent mistake."

"But Otabek’s furious!"

"He doesn’t seem furious."

"He even sent _kisses_."

"That’s because he didn’t _want_ me to think he was furious!"

Yuri’s right eye is dangerously on the verge of twitching. The Nikiforov-Katsukis exchange a worried look because they really do not need a Certified Yuri Plisetsky Breakdown in the middle of their living room. The forniture was expensive.

"Isn’t Otabek twenty-three?"

"Yes."

"And very mature for his age?"

"Where you’re going with this, _katsudon_?"

"Well, wouldn’t Otabek talk out any issues he might have?"

"He _does_ seem like the person who would."

"Besides, it’s not like you got up and left in the middle of anything. Which would still be fine."

"He just went to work with a nice mental image is all."

"I can’t believe my relationship is crumbling down around me and you’re sitting here drinking tea and doing _nothing_!"

Yuuri sighs, petting Makkachin on the head. Looking at him, at the way his now longer hair falls on his neck, Viktor feels the very strong urge to resume the language lesson they interrupted yesterday, ("How do you say kiss me?", " _Potseluy menya_." "And how do you say hold me?", " _Derzhi menya_.", "And how do you say—") possibly _without_ any hormonal twentysomethings around. Then again, he can’t leave a situation like this hanging. Not when he has the perfect solution to hit, handed down to him by a true master. He turns to Yuri, ready to drop his wisdom bomb.

"So?"

" _So_ I need an advice. What should I do?"

"About Otabek?"

"No, about my cat."

"Why, is Petrushka sick?"

"Saints give me strength— _of course_ about Otabek!"

"Suck his dick."

"What?"

Yuuri’s eyebrows shoot up so high they basically reach the stratosphere. " _Excuse_ me?"

"Don’t look so surprised, Yuuri. It’s what Christophe told me in Sochi in 2015. You know. After _the_ banquet."

"Again, _excuse me_?"

"Now that I think about it, he also told me the same exact thing after I saw your ' _Stammi Vicino_ ' video."

"I am speechless."

Viktor’s mouth bends up at the corners. "Well, it _did_ work. And you _do_ seem to still like it—"

"Okay, that’s enough!"

"You can make that face all you want, Yurio, but trust me. If you need to take something from Christophe take _this_ , instead of, say, a tank top that will inevitably ride up while doing a knee-slide."

"It was _years_ ago. Get over it."

"Not when _you_ had the brilliant idea to steal _my_ Gucci glasses. Yakov still thinks I had a hand in your, and I quote, _debauchery_. He shouted at me so much I though he was going to have a heart attack. He haunts my dreams, Yurio. You’ll never live that EX down, not in this house."

"Know what? Let’s drop it. Now come on. Give me a serious solution."

"You have it. Suck his dick. Fixes everything right up, if he’s mad he won’t be anymore, you’re going to get married live together have a nice house _where no one barges in unannounced at seven in the evening maybe_ , it’s going to be perfect."

Viktor’s voice has assumed that saccharine tone that indicates how dangerously close he is to feeling really irritated. Might be because of all the dick-sucking talk, or might be because of the mere fact that Katsuki Yuuri lives and breathes and exists on the planet and Viktor can’t get enough of him, not even after years of marriage. So he shoots up, not-so-gently grabs a still protesting Yuri by his jacket, and hauls him to the apartment front door. 

"Vitya, wait!"

"Come on, you’ve never been shy in your life, so don’t start now! Do you know where he’s playing?"

"Yes, the Griboyedov, but—"

"Uh, fancy _and_ famous, nice job Otabek! Perfect, go there, follow my wisdom, text us to let us know how it went _but not before noon tomorrow_ and bye, we love you!"

" _Vitya_!"

Too late. Viktor shuts the door on Yuri’s too-shocked-to-actually-be-pissed-off face and puts the chain on it, just for good measure. When Yuri’s heavy steps begin to descend the stairs, he finally turns to face Yuuri. Yuuri who has the heavy-lidded eyes of when he used to do his Eros routine and Viktor is already ascending to a higher plane of existence.

"I love it when you kick our putative son out so we can be alone."

"Yeah?"

"Gets me all hot and bothered."

"Better than _katsudon_?"

"Definitely better than _katsudon_."

_______

Yakov had Yuri practice axels like there was no fucking tomorrow, and by the end of the training session he had been pretty sure his feet were going to fall off. Still, Viktor’s stupid advice stuck with him— so now here Yuri is, Griboyedov’s neon lights washing over him, half a messy bun keeping his hair out of his face, his famous EX tank top because _he will take what he fucking pleases from Christophe and Viktor can go screw himself_. Or screw _katsudon_. _Whatever_.

Yuri hands his leopard coat to the wardrobe guy with a glare that says _this costed more than five of your paychecks so be careful_ and is just turning around to see if he can catch sight of Otabek when he hears it. The speakers hum it low at first, a thrumming that courses through the club like blood, and then the pace builds up in a remix that only one person could spin. The Griboyedov's curtained walls carry the sound differently than an ice arena, but the tingling Yuri gets in his spine is the same. _Welcome to the Madness_. 

"Found you."

Yuri is still not sure about Christophe’s advice, because it's _Christophe Giacometti, hello_ , he comes in his skating costumes and the dry cleaning for those costs a fortune, _who does that_ , but on one thing Viktor was right— Yuri has _never_ been shy. And he hasn’t lost the flexibility to arch his back like he did in Barcelona.

_______

"So you’re not angry?"

"Wait, move your knee a bit— Angry? Yura, why should I be angry?"

" _Thank God_ this bathroom isn’t as filthy as the one in the club from the other week. Because of the text?"

"What text?"

" _Please_ do not leave a hickey where I can’t cover it, you know Lilia hates it— _ah_!"

"You do seem to like them so much though. But Yura, what text?"

"Earlier! When you asked what I was doing tonight?"

"You though I was angry about _that_?"

"Yeah. I don’t know, I freaked out. I went to Viktor’s. Do you _have_ to wear jeans so tight?"

"Look who’s talking. _And_?"

"And he gave me advice that came from Christophe Giacometti of all things."

"Even if I was angry, I wouldn’t be anymore after you did the slide back on the dance floor, _trust me_. But now I’m curious. What was it?"

"I guess you’ll see. And then you can tell me if it worked or not."

There's a grin blossoming on Yuri's face when he sinks to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about ice idiots at [rigelsenshis](http://rigelsenshis.tumblr.com)


End file.
